


Stop the World (I Wanna Get Off with You)

by VitriolicAussie



Category: LazyTown
Genre: Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, PWP, Praise Kink, i guess?, literally no plot to be found
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 09:42:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9602186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VitriolicAussie/pseuds/VitriolicAussie
Summary: Sportacus doesn’t say all that much, really.//He doesn’t say much, so Robbie’s surprised when he finds that’s not exactly true.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd, so I apologise in advance if anyone grows an extra pair of hands or takes off clothes like a nesting doll.
> 
> As for the actual content I just ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Apparently this is a thing I wrote with my own two hands on a Monday afternoon.

 

 

 

Sportacus doesn’t _say_ all that much, really.

 

He listens. He expresses himself in different ways; the broad curve of his smile, warm and forceful enough that his eyes crinkle at the corners with it; his movements, wide and expansive and energetic, all those Godforsaken _flips_. His whole face scrunches up when he frowns but his brow only furrows when it’s one of concern and he hugs fit to break bone, pours every ounce of love and delight into the gesture like he knows nothing else.

 

(When they kiss, Robbie is convinced someone has plucked the sun from the sky and infused it beneath his skin; Sportacus vibrates on a frequency all his own.)

 

He doesn’t say much, so Robbie’s surprised when he finds that’s not exactly true.

 

“–so beautiful, Robbie–”

 

They’re in the airship, Sportacus’s bed, moonlight streaming in and highlighting their clasped hands, the sheets hopelessly tangled about their ankles. Sportacus is plastered up against his back, mouthing at his neck and shoulder, an impossibly warm palm cupping him through his underwear and if Robbie had his wits about him he might’ve been embarrassed to admit it but that’s not what has him whimpering softly as he rocks his hips tentatively; Sportacus _won’t stop talking_.

 

“You’re so beautiful, so perfect, do you like that? Do you feel good?” Sportacus breathes against his ear, sounds reverent, and Robbie hears himself whine. Presses into Sportacus’s hand but it’s not enough, brings their joined hands to his stomach and urges Sportacus to touch him with wordless little pleas, Robbie turns his head until Sportacus’s lips touch the corner of his mouth and he blindly reaches back to knot his fingers in the man’s shirt when Sportacus skates a hand up over his ribs and it’s good, Sportacus’s hands on him, but it’s contact muted by clothing and Robbie’s a little desperate.

 

He scrambles with the waistband of his underwear, curls his fingers in the hem of his sleeping shirt and tugs ineffectually; he’s hopelessly tangled in the sheets and Sportacus is unhelpful, maddening weight against him, a litany of praise against his skin that threatens to make Robbie writhe.

 

He manages to work his underwear down just enough that he can kick them off, manages to free his legs; the shirt proves more difficult, and with a vaguely irritated noise he sits up on his knees, manages to tug it off and over his head. Robbie thinks he hears Sportacus chuckle softly, just maybe, but he doesn’t have time to think about it before those strong, sure hands are sliding up his sides and down again leisurely, the mattress shifting as Sportacus follows and settles in against his back once again, chin hooked over his shoulder.

 

“Great idea, Robbie. You’re always so smart, so clever.” Robbie can hear the smile; he shudders a little and wonders how red his ears must be.

 

Nothing that could ever hold a candle to how hard he must blush when he feels Sportacus tilt his head to look down across his stomach to his parted thighs, cock achingly hard and slick with pre-come. There aren’t words for what he feels when he hears Sportacus gasp softly, when the man follows it up with a low, deeply appreciative hum.

 

“Now I can look at you,” Sportacus rumbles against his ear and then, softer, “Touch yourself?”

 

Robbie chokes. A knot of something like apprehension forms high in his throat and he doesn’t know what to say, his jaw working fruitlessly.

 

He’s not very good at...this. Whatever _this_ is. He’s the centre of attention and he doesn’t know what to do with that and he doesn’t know what Sportacus expects but he doesn’t want to let him down, more than anything, but if Sportacus wants a-a _show_ then he’s going to be disappointed because Robbie’s not _good_ at this–

 

“Robbie, it’s alright, it’s alright,” As if on cue, as if he _knows_ Sportacus kisses just beneath his ear and nuzzles at side of his neck and those strong, thick arms wind around his chest and hold Robbie close. “I just want to know what makes you feel good, I want you to show me. You don’t have to.”

 

Robbie feels himself relax by degrees. The anxiety is still there, ever-present, but there’s a kind of boldness rising to meet it in the face of Sportacus’s tone, earnest and awestruck in equal measure.

 

He touches Sportacus’s arms, glances at him out of the corner of his eye, and as Sportacus’s hands slide to his hips, thumbs stroking, gaze once again falling on Robbie’s body, Robbie is rewarded with the sight of him licking his lips hungrily.

 

It’s immediately relegated to second place when he hesitantly strokes at the inside of his thigh, embarrassment and exhilaration colouring his face, and Sportacus gasps, “ _Thank you_.”

 

“You’re so good Robbie, so good to me, so perfect, _my Robbie_ –” Sportacus growls right in his ear and Robbie’s back arches, hand curling around the base of his cock and squeezing to stop himself coming _right then_ but Sportacus sweeps a hand down the inside of his thigh, petting in his place, the other coming to rest possessively against Robbie’s stomach and Robbie hunches in on himself, whimpers and fucks into his own fist and feels Sportacus’s hips grind against him for the first time and–

 

“Please, please Robbie, I want to see, I want you to feel so good, you’re so close–”

 

“Sportacus!”

 

One of those strong, sturdy hands closes around his cock and Robbie sobs as he comes, fists a hand in the sheets and feels himself go slack and feels Sportacus’s arms around him again, holding him up, feels lips against his shoulder and hears a mumbled string of loving nonsense murmured against his skin.

 

“Robbie? Are you okay?”

 

It’s rather an embarrassingly long time before Robbie feels capable of answering; a heartbeat after that, more to his mortification, that he twists awkwardly and presses their lips together and reaches between Sportacus’s legs and

 

Finds the front of his underwear damp.

 

Robbie pulls back, brows knit in confusion. “U-uh,” he starts, jaw working, blinking a little owlishly. Sportacus just hums deep in his chest and leans in for another kiss, warm and lazy. “You–”

 

“Mmhm,” another kiss, this time high on his cheekbone, and if he were in any state to _think_ then Robbie would almost say he sounds amused.

 

“Already–”

  
  
“ _Mmhm_.”

 

“Just from–”

  
  
“Robbie. I told you, you’re _beautiful_.” And that’s definitely amusement in Sportacus’s voice as he grins broadly enough to show his teeth and leans in to plant a final kiss on Robbie’s nose.

 

Robbie’s not sure how to deal with that. So he grabs for a pillow and smacks Sportacus upside the head with it, huffs “Shut up!” and tries to pretend he’s not flushing red all over again when Sportacus catches him around the waist and pulls him close, wrestles him to the mattress and peppers his face with kisses and sing-songs over his feigned indignance “But Robbie! I never even got around to telling you what parts of you I like the most!”

  
  
“Shut up!” Robbie hits him with the pillow again; undeterred and grinning, Sportacus pins him to the mattress and starts rattling off an extensive list (that boils down to _everything_ ) with examples punctuated by smiling kisses to each part in question.

 

They don’t make it to the shower for another hour.

 

They don’t make it back to sleep for another _four_.


End file.
